


giants

by hectorpriamides



Series: transatlanticism [1]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: First Kiss, First Person, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, idiots in love tbh.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectorpriamides/pseuds/hectorpriamides
Summary: achilles and patroclus kiss in the back of a truck





	giants

**Author's Note:**

> finally my hick knowledge comes in handy
> 
> listened to ‘transatlanticism’ (the album) by death cab while listening to this, if you want a Mood™️

I first kiss Achilles in the back of my truck, rusted at the wheels, the cap arched over us like the sky. Kissing Achilles is the best decision of my life, despite gangly, awkward elbows, mashing teeth like belt buckles.

The truck is new – new to me, bought this morning, with all my money from waitering. A year and a half of soul-crushing work, taking overtime like it was oxygen, nightshifts, generous tips from patrons. I was more than a waiter to most of the truckers and family trips that filter in — a listening ear, a brown-skinned boy hunched over the diner bar, medical book before me.

Half of my paycheck and all of my tips went to the thirty-six hundred for the F-150. Admittedly, I knew and know nothing about trucks or cars; it was affordable, and the widow – old enough to be my grandmother, situated on the edge of town near the sea – I bought it off of was patient enough to wait for me to have the cash. It pained me to hand over the stack of hard money, yet now I have the truck, and it’s too late to go back. Yet it’s comforting, a way out, sinking the large sum of money to sink my hands on the cracking vinyl.

The suspension is horrible, shaking down the back roads that lead to Achilles’ home. The roads are dark in both pavement and foliage. I know the bends well, having ridden and walked them higher than I can count. The truck is new to me, and my Cinderella license sits out on the bench seat, with the temporary registration. Tonight’s special, Achilles promised, a barrage of emojis, to celebrate you, after all! but with far less capital letters.

For the first time since winter fell, we’re camping. Away from Achilles’ (and my distant) home, my long time friend overjoyed by the idea of camping in the bed of my truck. Old man Chiron, our little league baseball coach and mentor to this very moment, laughed when we asked to use his field, but he said whatever with a wave of his hand.

And well, there was Achilles, kicking up my old childish infatuation, stomach twisting in knots. He was standing on his porch with his mother, equal in height - Thetis is a terrifyingly tall woman. His golden hair was caught by dimming sunlight and caught in a fire. My adoration, hesitant love, and infatuation aside, Achilles’ is hands down on of the most beautiful I have or ever lay eyes on.

He smiled when I pulled up, bag clasped in his hands and blankets piled at his feet. I was in charge of drinks and food and entertainment, because we aren’t truly going camping camping, and he the blankets and portable DVD player he bought years ago at a garage sale.

My golden idiot also has his guitar, because gods forbid he went anywhere without it.

He’s quick to open the driver side door, smiling at me. He wears those khaki shorts and Hawaiian button with a memetic pride I don’t get, but if the tease of collarbone exists this way, then so be it.

Old man Chiron lived near my widow, so I drove us back that way as Achilles played with the radio, which to his disappointment, received almost nothing, and was not home to aux port. He’s terrible, I think, watching him from the corner of my eye, no seatbelt, digging around in his bag because surely I must have an album somewhere.

The tires flatten the fresh spring grasses, the sun setting into a melting sherbet sky. The colorful sky are worth it all. We hesitate, both watching it, before Achilles abandons the cab and rushes back to the cap, dropping the tailgate and prying open the window. He’s quick to lay the blankets out, the job half done by time I get back there. The air is sweet and humid, cleaner than the diner. After working myself to a husk for the a year and a half, I resigned from the diner. Working minimum wage may buy a truck, but to think it’d even cover half of my college costs is ridiculous.

“Does this mean you’re mine again?” he asks casually, hoisting himself up, sandals forgotten on the ground. He’s forgone the shirt, I soon realize. Achilles was always more comfortable in his bare skin, since were we children.

“For now,” I say, clambering in beside him. I’m all limb, less assured in my movements than the track runner before me. A head taller than him, having the slouch ever so slightly to not graze my curls on the roof.

He smiles like the sun he is. I can see endless possibilities in that smile. And before I can think, rid myself of the romantic notions — he looks so beautiful in the sunset, light framing his face yet, freckles ablaze, pretty white teeth that money can buy but not his — I kiss him, close the space that shouldn’t exist between us. He doesn’t pull back, and my heart speeds so much. I’ve never been a runner, winded far too fast, and now my heart runs like it does now. It’s right. This is right.

I’ve thought about kissing Achilles for as long as I’ve known him. I have kissed Achilles, plenty of times, but not like this. First, in the innocent way, when we were grubby handed children rushing down the banks behind his house to play in the river, kissing his cheek. Second, when I would leave his house in my father’s car, braving more kisses to his cheeks despite my father’s dangerous hands clapping me on the back of the head. I thought of it well into my teen years, until my feelings transferred from one form of love to another, fettering into something foreign yet comforting, when boys kissing became inappropriate, because only girls treat each other like that.

And now — and now he doesn’t pull back, pushing me on my back, those endless legs straddling my lap. He breaks the kiss to breathe, to laugh, tucking his head against my shoulder. I’m lightheaded, but thread my fingers in his hair, chest heaving if not for the weight settled there. “Thank gods you kissed me first,” he breathes, glancing at me with those twisting green eyes. "I didn’t know you liked me back like this,” he admits, and I kiss him again, heart swelling. It’s right. This is right, laying a hand on his bare skin. We use to swim nude together, Thetis would give us baths together when we came back dirtied, but this is different. Right, but different.

Meant to be here, I think, his flesh warm and comforting. It’s cliche, I think, feeling fireworks that I recognized as endorphins exploded in my brain, neurons excited. A piece clicks into place. And I kiss him again, harder, his fingers fisting in my shirt.

I regretfully have to break it, when my body screams at me to do so. "I was terrified you didn’t like me like this either,” I admit. He feels so very natural on my lap. We sleep in the same bed when I spend the night, mostly high summer, and I would look at his bared form, too hot for anything besides boxers. His skin was pink, peeling into a tan, his summer skin giving me my usual Achilles.

“For longer than you could understand,” he laughs, and I can’t help but kiss him, the hum of insects and the truck around us.

**Author's Note:**

> i might do more stuff like this. drop a comment if you’d like that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> thanks for reading. i love you


End file.
